Letters and Memories
by Saoirse7
Summary: Going through their mother's things was tedious yet entertaining, as they discovered things they never knew she had. But were there secrets still contained within these walls?
1. Chapter 1

"I can't believe Mum kept all this stuff!"

Maryanne smiled and nodded. "I know. Look at this!" She picked up a notepad out a box they had just filled. "'Remember to pick up milk on the way home. Lu wants chocolate syrup.'" She stopped and stared at the paper. "Hmm. I wonder who Lu was."

Her sister, Janice, laughed and took the notebook from her, replacing it in the box. "Probably a high school friend or possibly roommate. It could be anyone."

Maryanne chuckled. "True. Here, help me put this in the car."

They lifted the heavy load together, barely managing to shove it into the back of Maryanne's SUV, where several others waited patiently to be left in her attic and forgotten. Once back inside, they continued their time-consuming task of going through their mother's things. She had only recently passed away after a long and seemingly full life, as one would easily be able to tell from the stacks of possessions she had accumulated over the years—books, papers, souvenirs from their father's travels across the globe, and so on. And while going through these things now was long and occasionally tedious, both sisters would readily admit that they didn't mind the job, since now they had the chance to admire the beautiful things they had always loved and discover things they never knew she had.

Memorabilia from early on in their parents' marriage was a huge find, especially the hat boxes stuffed to the brim with old, yellowing love letters. Apparently, both of their parents were prolific writers back in the day. There were months, even years on end in these boxes. Some of them had foreign stamps or were more weather-stained than others, and the women knew that those must be from when their father was traveling abroad. He had worked for a shipping company for years, which earned him the chance to visit many exotic locales. Hearing the stories from his trips was something the sisters had enjoyed as long as he was able to tell them.

Seeing these letters now, poring over these precious memories, reminded them of those stories, and showed anew just how much their parents had loved each other. After years of fighting a debilitating illness, their father had passed on rather recently, spending his last days being cared for by their mother. It was not much surprise that their mother did not live long after that.

xxxxxxx

They had been working on this project for almost five hours this particular day when Janice straightened from her sorting and stretched. "Hungry yet?"

"Getting there. You want to call it quits?"

"I think so. We can pick up again tomorrow."

Her sister nodded and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I may be a little late, but I'll be here. George has an evening meeting and I'll need to bring Susie."

"Oh, sure. Totally fine," Janice smiled her understanding. "She can help. Goodness knows we need all the help we can get."

Maryanne glanced at the mess still in piles surrounding them. "You can say that again," she muttered. "Maybe you could bring the twins, Jan. The three of them could pitch in together and make it a…thing."

Janice laughed. "Like a playdate, but actually doing something useful. Good idea! I'm sure Lou and Bobby would love to see Susie, and they would be happy to help."

"Especially Louise. She has such a giving spirit, that one."

"I agree. I think she's meant to be some sort of humanitarian. Always healing her dolls and teddy bears!" The younger sister smiled at the thought of her daughter as she shuffled some papers into a stack for filing.

"Well, both you and Richard are that way, so I'm not too surprised." Maryanne loved her sister's kind, generous streak, though she didn't understand it all the time. It wouldn't work as well in her business world as it did in Jan's primary school.

"Thank you, Mary. Louise is kind enough for the entire family, though."

The older sister chuckled. "Yes, I know it. She could teach Susie a few things, I'm sure."

"All the more reason for them to spend time together," Janice smiled warmly.

"True enough. Until tomorrow, then?"

"Until tomorrow. Richard is going to be a bear if I don't get him some supper soon!"

"George won't be much better. You're right, we should go."

The sisters embraced quickly and Janice headed out to her car. Maryanne stayed behind a minute longer, surveying the scene. Something stirred inside her, reminiscent of the storybooks their father used to read to them as children. Even after all this time of clearing out the house, mixed with the familiarity was an air of mystery, as though something was waiting to be found and they just hadn't stumbled over it yet. Were there secrets still contained between these walls?

She chuckled and shook her head, the fanciful thoughts scattering and the comfortable, sensible ones taking their place. This was their parents, after all. Robert and Susan Holmes. Respected in the community and, now that their traveling days were over, not known to do anything more outlandish than neglect their umbrella when they left home. What secrets could they possibly have?

**A/N: What secrets, indeed? I'd appreciate to know your thoughts!**


	2. Chapter 2

"We're here!" Maryanne strolled into the house without knocking, steering her fourteen-year-old daughter around the boxes and breakables piled precariously. "Great!" she heard her sister answer from the next room, and walked in just as Janice was straightening up from packing a load of books.

"And you brought Susie! Wonderful. It's good to see you again, love."

"Hi, Aunt Jan," the girl answered quietly.

"Are you ready to work?" Janice received a half-hearted smile in response and chuckled. "Bobby and Louise are sorting through some clothing in the bedroom, if you want to go pitch in."

Susie's face brightened at the mention of her cousins, and she hurried out of the room.

"I think we should start work on the attic tonight," the older sister said after her daughter had gone.

"The attic? There probably isn't even anything up there. In fact, I didn't even know they could put anything in ours."

"Why wouldn't they be able to?"

"Because they're usually just full of insulation and rafters with wide open spaces, that's why."

"Well, we won't know until we look, now will we? You remember where the opening is, don't you?"

Janice grimaced. "Of course. In the hallway right by where my room was. It gave me the willies as a child."

Her sister laughed. "Did it? I could see that. If you hadn't read all those fantasy and mystery novels, you would not have had that problem."

"At least I read the right books," she muttered, still thinking that her stories of epic adventures were twenty times as interesting as Mary's books on how to get ahead in life.

Maryanne chose to let the comment pass. That argument had been exhausted when they were children; they had different interests, that's all. It had been evident then and was just as evident now.

"I bet the kids would like to explore it, don't you think?" she responded instead, brushing past to begin pulling knick-knacks from a shelf.

"Yes, I'm sure they would, though one of us should check to make sure it's actually possible to _walk_ up there."

"You're right, one of us should," Maryanne shot back, her expression uncharacteristically sarcastic and teasing.

"What, are you saying I should?" Janice took a step back, visions of men in black in dark corners rising in her mind. She tried to shake her head to banish them, but they wouldn't leave.

"Problem?"

"Um, no. No problem. I'll just—"… _deep breath, Janice_… "I'll just pop up there, then." She smiled weakly, then quickly walked away to hide the fact that her childish fantasy still made full use of her overactive imagination.

It took her no time at all to pull down the ladder and take the first step, though secretly she had been wishing it had been a bit more difficult. Well, no going back now. The final step loomed before her, and she willed herself to check her imagination and proceed in a practical, business-like manner—the way Mary undoubtedly saw it.

Janice reached the step at last and cautiously peeked out.

Nothing happened.

She pulled herself a little higher, so she could see.

Again, nothing.

But the attic itself was not nothing. Not only was it safe to walk into, it was packed full of boxes, old trunks, and other miscellaneous items that had crawled up here to die. No people, though. No scary men lurking. Not even any dark corners. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and hurried back to the main floor.

"Well?" Maryanne stood near the base of the ladder, waiting. "Anything there?"

"Loads," her sister replied. "The kids will love it."

xxxxxxx

Susie, Bobby, and Louise had been up in the attic for about three hours, poking around and bringing various items down to the main level so that the adults could decide where it would go from there. Occasionally, their parents would hear the children calling for help to lift a heavy box or tote something down the precarious attic ladder.

But this time, when Janice heard Louise yell "Mum!", there was something different about it.

Yet when she arrived at the scene, breathless, all the children were staring at was another old trunk. "Yes, what is it?" she asked, trying to keep the annoyed edge out of her tone. They had dragged her up those stairs for this?

"This one's locked, Mum," Bobby replied, eyes alight with mischief. "None of the others were locked."

"He thinks it's something special," Susie stated, crossing her arms, and her mother, who had followed up to the attic, knew she was mentally rolling her eyes.

"It is!" Bobby defended. "It has to be!"

"From some exotic location," Louise chimed in, her eyes also lit up by her imagination.

"India!"

"China!"

"Stolen from pirates in the South Seas!" the boy grinned.

"Reclaimed from bandits in the Americas!" his sister put in, not to be outdone.

"Now, now," Maryanne's husband, George, broke in, laughing, since by now all four adults were standing around it. "Let's not get carried away. Are you sure it's locked?" He crouched down and jiggled the lock, attempting to work past the rust. It still wouldn't budge.

The children just looked at him.

"Alright, I suppose it's locked." The man straightened and dusted his knees. "Did you see a key anywhere near here?"

"No, nothing," Louise answered.

"We could try to break it open," her father, Richard, suggested.

"We should at least attempt to find the key," Maryanne spoke up. "No sense breaking it if there is a key."

A search ensued, which proved unfruitful. Richard was about to take a crowbar to it when Janice suddenly exclaimed, "Wait!"

"Yes?" her husband asked, his tone indicating he just wanted to get it open and have it over with.

"I just remembered— There was an odd key we found in a jewelry box Mum hardly used…"

"I vaguely remember you pointing that out," Maryanne nodded. "Do you suppose that's it?"

"Well, it didn't seem that it would fit anywhere else. It's worth a go, at least."

"Where did we put that box?"

Janice cringed. "Packed? I don't know."

The older sister fought the urge to roll her eyes and throw her hands up in frustration. This was too much fuss over a silly trunk that probably had nothing but clothes in it. Opting for a small sigh instead, she said the only thing she knew would make her sister and all three children happy: "Let's go find it, then!"

That search took much longer than the previous one, and involved a lot more work. At first, the children were eager, but their enthusiasm waned as the time stretched on. George and Richard were even sent back to look in the boxes that had already been stored.

Finally, after what seemed like hours—and probably was—Susie happened upon the small, ornate container. The whole group gathered in the attic again, ready to see if all that effort had been worth it.

Susie delicately pushed the key into the lock.

It fit.

And with a quick turn, she thrust the lid open.


	3. Chapter 3

"Clothes?"

Bobby frowned down at the trunk, clearly not impressed.

"But such clothes," Louise breathed, reaching in and pulling out the dress, which was made of material so rich even the adults gazed at it, eyes wide. The lantern hanging from the ceiling caught on every sequin and jewel, making it glitter. The girl could only imagine how beautiful it would look in full sunlight.

"Fit for a queen," Janice spoke quietly, as though afraid to break the spell.

"Not just clothes," came Susie's voice, and she drew out a handful of letters and a book. "In fact, that's the only one."

She was right. The entire rest of the trunk was filled with books, paper, and other small items.

Maryanne picked up another of the books, which had "Journal" printed simply on the cover. "I wonder whose these were." She flipped to the first page, scanned it, and frowned. "This doesn't make any sense."

"Let me see," her husband reached for it and she handed it over, shrugging.

George squinted at the thin, spidery scrawl. "This is nonsense. Whoever it was liked animals, though," he commented, turning pages. "Especially lions. Not only are they mentioned, they're capitalised all over the place." He turned a few more pages, then passed the book back to Maryanne, who put it to the side next to all the others, making mental notes.

Book after book they pulled out of the trunk, and handful after handful of envelopes stuffed with letters. Most of the letters were in bundles, and it seemed that the bundles were organised by the person who had sent them, judging by the handwriting.

Every single envelope was addressed to Susan Pevensie.

"Mum's maiden name," Janice mused.

"Should we open them, see who they're from?" her sister asked as she tried to read over Janice's shoulder.

"A little later, maybe," she replied, tossing them into the growing pile.

Near the bottom they began finding photo albums, packed full of aged, sepia photographs from days long ago. It was clear that they had been made by someone very intent on preserving those memories, as each photograph was lovingly preserved, with mostly illegible captions from a fountain pen off to the side.

The two families could not resist skimming through the first album, at least, and found photo after photo of toddlers, almost always the same: two boys, two girls. Some pictures it was just the girls, some it was just the boys, a few had parents or what appeared to be friends, but most were the children, all of whom bore an uncanny resemblance.

"Hey, that one looks somewhat like you," Janice nudged her daughter halfway through the second album, all of slightly older children, and pointed at the girl with the sunny smile and apparently hair to match, even going by the black and whites.

Louise giggled at the comparison and looked harder. "Do you think so? My hair isn't that light."

"In the summer it gets close, but I meant her smile. See? In every frame she looks like she's the happiest person on earth."

"I feel sorry for that boy," Bobby put in, sticking his thumb at the child with dark hair and a dour expression. "He looks like he never has any fun!"

"Perhaps he doesn't," his sister commented thoughtfully. "I wonder if it has to do with how he feels about his older brother. The golden one, don't you think?" Here she paused in her reflection and glanced around at the others. "There he looks like he'd rather crawl out of his skin than spend time with him."

Susie, who had been quietly observing up until this point, nodded and stepped forward. "And there, again," she replied in agreement, pointing. "The other girl looks just like you, Mum."

Maryanne's first reaction had been to scoff, silently, at their imaginative associations and speculations. After all, these people could be anybody. Most likely distant relatives. But when she turned back to see what her daughter was showing her, she was stunned to find that the dark-haired child with the half smile peering out from the pages could have been a mirror image from any one of her childhood photos.

"Well, isn't that strange…" she murmured, grabbing another album and flipping through it, realisation dawning. "Jan, look at these. Who does that remind you of?"

The younger sister drew in a sharp breath, immediately seeing the resemblance Maryanne was referring to. "That's Mum," she exhaled slowly.

Maryanne brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear and nodded.

"Which makes the rest of them…"

"Siblings," the older sister finished. "Mum has siblings."

"That isn't possible," Janice said quietly, obviously processing. "How could we have an aunt and two uncles we didn't even know about?"

**A/N: So, the truth comes out. At least, is coming out. Sorry about the short chapters; I hope to have more next time. This is less a mystery and more a journey of discovery, but you're still welcome to come along for the ride, and I would appreciate any thoughts you have on it!**


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the family remained oblivious to the sisters' discussion, still talking about the children and laughing at the various pictures.

"Do you think they're even still alive?"

"I have no idea." Janice ran a hand through her hair and stared at the shocking photographs. "But I feel like we would have met them if they were."

"Maybe they were estranged?" Maryanne frowned.

"Maybe," her sister replied, but with an expression that said she would rather believe otherwise.

"Is everything alright?" George's voice at his wife's elbow startled both women, and brought their attention swiftly back around to the task at hand.

"Yes, everything's fine," Maryanne replied, closing the photo album abruptly and hoping he wouldn't notice her shaking hands.

"But it's getting late," Janice supplied. "The rest of this can probably wait until tomorrow."

George wisely said nothing more, instead turning to gather the children. Naturally, they were disappointed at leaving after finding this treasure trove.

"Just think of it as something to look forward to for tomorrow," Richard smiled, catching Janice's eye with a silent question. _Later_, she mouthed, and he nodded.

"I'm taking these home with me to read," Maryanne announced as soon as it was only her and her sister left in the room, picking up several journals.

"That sounds like a good idea," Janice answered. "I think I'll take the letters, and we can phone each other with what we find."

xxxxxxx

She didn't get to the journals until much later that night, after supper had been made and cleaned up, and after Susie had headed upstairs to bed, only then was she able to pull the books out. George was working on something for a client, so she would be undisturbed for some time, and she couldn't stand the suspense any longer.

The first one was dated 3 January 1941. It was in a different hand than the first one she had flipped through, and while it was still difficult to read because of the shaky, childish writing, all the words made sense in the order they were written.

"Everyone else is on the train, halfway to school by now. As much fun as Yule always is, the holidays are too short. You spend all this time preparing for it, then it's Christmas and New Year and then everyone is back to class without ceremony. We tried to include Mum in the Yule celebrations we're used to, but everything is different and I know the others felt it too. Susan did wonders with the rations, though, and we tried to smile and ignore the sadness of missing home. I can call it home, can't I? I have been to myself and it's hard to break the habit. I suppose I should consider Here home but when I wake up the day after Christmas and expect to be on the Dancing Lawn and instead find myself in the dark because of the blackout shades, it's disappointing! I know it's childish to think so, but sometimes I can't help it. Now I'm here, trying to help Mum get everything back to order after Yule and the rush of the others' packing. I say 'trying' because she won't let me do hardly anything. I'm too small, apparently, which is especially frustrating, all things considered. Maybe once I hit ten she'll see me as older. Only two more years to go! This. Is. Ridiculous. I know I'm complaining, but couldn't we have come back after at least a few years had passed? All these emotions of being young are irritating, Aslan! I know Edmund feels it too. We all do. Well, that's one thing, at least. Thank you for the support we're able to give each other. Time is healing the separation, but at least we're all together."

Maryanne's eyes scanned the pages again. _Dancing Lawn? Aslan? Come back?_ Her brows furrowed. Maybe it was in code. But this was clearly the youngest daughter! Why would she make things up only for her diary? It was as though she was writing _to_ someone, this Aslan character, which didn't make any sense. _I suppose the only logical thing is to keep reading_, she mused, and turned a few pages, stopping at an entry dated 7 March 1941.

"Classes are easier than I expected. It probably helps that I've learned most of this before, though one time I drew our geography teacher to look like Master Zeki, and it made me laugh so hard I started coughing and had to ask to be excused. Rachel accidentally saw it later, but I think she just blamed it on my 'very active imagination', she calls it. Better she think that, wouldn't you agree? The last thing I need is everyone thinking I'm crazy—again."

The next few entries were more descriptions of the girl's primary school adventures. It seemed she was quite a tomboy, convinced she could do anything a boy could do and more. Maryanne rather liked her for it. Apparently her brothers, Peter and Edmund, Peter being the elder, had taught her many things about fighting, including with dangerous objects that Maryanne shuddered to think of someone younger than her own daughter tossing about. How they even knew, since they could not be much older than this girl, was another question Maryanne could only file away for further thought later.

Aslan was addressed directly several more times, and finally Maryanne booted up her computer to type the name into the search bar, and see if it drew any results. It brought up several random companies and a few people's last names. But there was no way that this girl knew these people, especially sixty years ago. Maryanne edited her search, instead looking for the meaning behind the name. It came up almost immediately.

Maryanne stared at the screen in shock. "Lion"? In Turkish, of all languages? Weren't lions what George had said was written all over the other journal? Was there a connection? Whatever it was, the practical part—or maybe it was the dormant adventurous side—of her brain told her that this was not a coincidence.

Eagerly she reached for the journal again, this time flipping it open to an entry in early May, the same year.

"If I thought Yule was bad being separated from N., not even having the others home for my birthday was much worse. Mum, as usual, did her best (I have no idea where she managed to find so many sugar rations) but it couldn't even feel close to the same. Of course, I couldn't very well tell her that I didn't want the cake she made, so I smiled and accepted it and all the well-wishes from her friends as graciously as if it were the finest thing I'd ever had, but all I really wanted was to have my brothers and sister home. At least next year I'll have Susan, since we'll be at the same school. Their letters were nice, though. The usual happiness for the new year, some apologies for not being able to be here, and some much-needed encouragement. But, of course! You were here, I know you were, and that made it seem like N. wasn't so far away. I can't even complain of being alone, and I know the others were here in spirit. Well, it's getting late, and Mum will be upset if I run down the lamp. It takes so long to write anything now. I miss scribes."

There were several bits in that entry that made Maryanne stop and stare. For one thing, what could "N" stand for? Was it a person? A place? It was impossible to tell. And now this Aslan was actually there with her? Up until now, it seemed like Aslan was just some person she had chosen to write to, but now they were present with the girl, apparently.

At some point Maryanne had pulled out a notebook and begun to take notes. This was more than just unexplained extended family. Even Mum's secrets had secrets. Underneath "Aslan physical person?" she wrote "scribes?" and looked at it hard.

It was about time to compare notes with Jan, she decided, reaching for the house phone before glancing at the clock. Was it too late to call? She weighed the options briefly before concluding that her sister was probably awake anyway. No doubt the letters were just as strange, if what they had seen in the attic was any indication. Maryanne had barely pressed two numbers when the phone rang sharply, startling her so much she nearly dropped the receiver.

"Yes? Hello?"

**A/N: I'm so sorry it's been so long! Here's a long-ish chapter to make up for it! What do you think? I haven't written a lot of Lucy, so I don't know if she's exactly in character... sorry about that too. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Good news! I am not dead. I'm sure you weren't worried, but... well, the Muse went off on holiday and caught a nasty case of Writer's Block. I'll spare you the details, but hopefully we're through the worst of it and she's back for good. **

**Anyway, I also received a few comments on prior chapters asking to clarify characters and I figured now more than ever. So. Maryanne (Mary) and Janice (Jan) are sisters. Maryanne is older, she is married to George, and their daughter is Susie. Janice is married to Richard, and they have twins: Bobby and Louise. Hope that clears things up!**

"Yes? Hello?" Maryanne tried to not let her voice betray how much the simple ring of the telephone had startled her.

"How's the reading coming?"

Maryanne instantly recognised her sister's voice on the other end and let out a breath. "Jan. I was just about to ring you, actually. It's going slow for my part, but giving me a lot to think about. I've been reading one of the journals of the youngest girl. How about for you?"

"I picked the smallest bundle, all of which are signed 'Edmund'. I didn't realise that these seem to be the most difficult to read. He talks like a lawyer and the tiny writing is almost impossible to interpret." Maryanne heard her sigh and the sound of paper shuffling. "I think he is the dark-haired boy, because he doesn't act like the oldest."

"No, from the girl's journal, I think the older brother's name is Peter. He's the oldest, then our mother, then Edmund, then the other daughter. She doesn't sign her diary."

"Lucy," Janice supplied.

"Lucy," Maryanne repeated. "Means 'bright' or something like that, doesn't it?"

"Something like that. 'Light', maybe."

"Seems fitting. She generally seems like a very happy person." Maryanne flipped some pages and reread a few lines.

"From the way Edmund talks about her, he clearly respects her a lot. They all seem to have a lot of respect for each other. It's almost strange, really, in an archaic sort of way. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with her diary?"

"Enough that I began making a list. What's Edmund like?"

"Hmm…" More paper shuffling. "He's obviously intelligent, well-read—he refers to several classical works of literature, along with things popular during the time these were written, back in the forties. Like I said earlier, he talks like a lawyer, meaning very professional-sounding and articulate, even though he can't be more than a teenager if he's younger than Mum and these were written in the mid-to-late forties. Strangely enough, though, there aren't any letters dated later than August, 1949. They just stop. I'd be interested in seeing if any of the others continued writing."

"We can check when we go back," Maryanne murmured, mind drifting to try and fill in the missing pieces. She didn't come up with much.

"Oh, there is something else," Janice's voice continuing to describe the boy broke into her thoughts. "He seems to have a troubled past, and that's why he keeps trying to convince Mum to 'come back to the Lion', whatever that means."

Immediately, Maryanne's attention was fully directed to the conversation again. "You said 'Lion'?"

"Yes, lions are mentioned everywhere, always singular, always capitalized. Like the first journal you picked up in the attic, isn't it? In fact, I'd like to get a second look at that one. I might recognise the handwriting this time around." A small giggle escaped Janice's lips. She should definitely be an expert in Edmund Pevensie's handwriting after spending hours trying to read it.

"Lions seem to be a running theme. I haven't read anything by the older boy yet, but I would not be at all surprised if he mentions them frequently, as well." As she spoke, she was already reaching for the other books she'd grabbed, hoping one of them would belong to Peter and she could see if her guess was correct.

"A running theme? So Lucy talks about them, too?" Janice asked.

"Not exactly, except that there's a chance she might be writing her diary entries to one. She mentions this person—or thing, I'm not really sure—called Aslan, as though the diary is more of a letter that she's writing to it—him. Well, guess what 'Aslan' means in Turkish?"

"Lion?"

"One and the same."

Maryanne heard her sister's whistle of appreciation. "Family thing?" She shrugged, then remembered Janice couldn't see her. "I don't know. That's what I'd like to find out."

"Do you have anything from Peter there?"

"I'm checking… aha! Found one. Another journal, it seems." Clutching the phone between her chin and her shoulder, she opened the book to a random page and began scanning. Unlike the scrawl she had seen from Edmund or the loopy, childish writing of Lucy's, Peter's script was strong, mostly in well-formed capital letters. If writing spoke of personality, his told of confidence and leadership.

The entry she had opened to was a couple years after the entries she had been reading in Lucy's diary, dated 15 March 1944.

"The saying goes that there are no atheists in foxholes. It's true, too—though I've found you never know what last shred of hope you'll cling to when staring Death in the face. Whether it's Giant clubs or German shells, war never changes. I still fight beneath the banner of the Lion. I just need to polish my own boots this time. That, and guns are a little different from swords and bows."

She read the short entry to herself and then aloud to Jan. "I picked a random entry, and there are still lions."

"Lions everywhere," Janice chuckled.

"It must mean something," Maryanne bit her lip in concentration, winced, and flipped a few more pages. "Here they're mentioned again. And here. It's just like you said. They're everywhere, always singular, always capitalized." She heard her sister yawn through the phone.

"Maybe we should continue this later. There's still the rest of the trunk to go through tomorrow, on top of the cleaning…"

Maryanne frowned. _No, we should continue now. There are still so many unanswered questions._ But then she glanced at the clock again and knew Jan was right. "Later today, you mean. You're right. We have a big day ahead and spending all our energy on this can't help."

"You're prepared to just go all night, aren't you, Mary?" Ever the night owl. "Just try to kip before the sun comes up."

"Thanks for understanding. I'll get some sleep, I promise." As she spoke, she reached for another journal. Time to see if Peter was as unusual as his sister.


End file.
